


the skeletons in both our closests plotted hard to fuck this up

by andromedaas



Series: does anyone flinch when you take off your clothes? [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, it is not suggested to break into hell and fuck their queen as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28720983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedaas/pseuds/andromedaas
Summary: In the midst of all that happens, Zelda Spellman barrels in hell with all the force of a wildfire and takes its queen to bed.Somewhere between losing Sabrina and losing her faith (and losing herself although she’ll never admit that to anyone), she finds herself in a bloodstained throne room with magic crackling along her fingertips.(this is not a love story, this is a story about love)
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Series: does anyone flinch when you take off your clothes? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143197
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115





	the skeletons in both our closests plotted hard to fuck this up

**Author's Note:**

> anyways I did not code any of my metadata today and instead wrote this because I am an IDIOT and you have to suffer with this fic 
> 
> so now I have to code all my metadata before class in an hour and honestly it was worth it
> 
> yes the title is from "cowboy like my" by taylor swift and no I will not be taking criticism on in

It seemed simple, easy. She’s fallen in love before, she can fall in love again.

She should have expected this to be nothing like that, not after losing so much.

This is not a love story.

This is a story about love.

-

In the midst of all that happens, Zelda Spellman barrels in hell with all the force of a wildfire and takes its queen to bed.

Somewhere between losing Sabrina and losing her faith (and losing herself although she’ll never admit that to anyone), she finds herself in a bloodstained throne room with magic crackling along her fingertips. There’s a headache building in her temple, throbbing in time to the power pulsing beneath her skin. She’s lost so much, too much. Edward, Sabrina, Marie. 

_Marie_. 

She had killed Marie off in her story, and Marie said goodbye to Zelda in hers. So until the Loa found the cure for death, she can stay away from Zelda and all the twisted emotions she caused. 

And now…

Now she stands in the bedroom of a queen. This isn’t the same person who stood in front of the alter of Hecate with a knife at her chest. This isn’t the broken eyes of a woman who had lost _everything_ , only to emerge stronger than before. This was the _goddess_ that took down Lucifer.

Lilith was different now. The drink in her hand was pitch black and smelled of moonlight and sapphires, the universe bottled up and poured out for her to tilt back in a crystalline glass. “Dying is overrated,” she says between sips, blue eyes burning into Zelda’s. “Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn’t the hard thing. The woman that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain…Try living for someone. Through it all; good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That’s the hard thing.” She drowns the rest of her glass and waves her hand over it, watching it fill with thick black liquid. “Nick was a coward. Marie was a coward.” Then there’s the smirk on her lips, the same one she had when she stabbed Lucifer and drank his blood, crunched his bones between her teeth and sucked on his marrow. “What are you, Zelda Spellman? What do you want?”

“What am I?”

_What am I?_

She didn’t know, she was a mother at one point. A mother to a girl six feet under, a body that the Cain Pit could not bring back. Someone who fought for what she believed in no matter what, no matter what her actions caused. Stubborn and selfish and Zelda missed her terribly. She was a wife at a point, a lover at others. She was a sister to Hilda, to Edward. She was in love with a woman, or god, or Loa, who ripped out her heart and feasted it in front of her eyes. 

Lilith magics a cigarette, no holder, just slender fingers and she takes a slow, steady drag, eyes narrowing. “There was a time I craved spring, Zelda Spellman. Times I craved winter so I could vanish to the depths of hell, standing in Pandemonium cloaked in hellfire.” The liquid in her glass dwindles down to nothing. She drums her fingers on the edge of the table, eyes never leaving Zelda’s. “I finally have everything I’ve ever wanted, Zelda.”

Zelda watches as Lilith stands, turns, paces back and forth across a blood red rug. There’s darkness underneath her skin, blooming across her collarbones in large splatters. The cigarette turns to ash in her hand. 

“All I’ve ever wanted, Zelda.” 

There’s an ache in her voice older than time, older than memory, that reminds Zelda of herself. So strong, so proud, so fucking _weary_. 

“Why is it not enough?” The pacing is back, Lilith long hair whipping back and forth as she frantically works her way across the room. “I gave him everything. Why am I not happy? I finally have it all, my powers, my throne, my kingdom.” She looks up with eyes, glazed with grief, sorrow, something unexplainably and explicitly _human_. “Am I not enough?” 

She looks down, then up, then down again, staring at her feet rather than Zelda and something in Zelda breaks for her. “I got your niece killed, watched your lover walk away. I…” Every time Zelda has seen Lilith broken, shattered, scattered in pieces across the floor the demoness always delicately places herself together, bit by bit, a mosaic vase where the glue isn’t quite set and a minuscule push can topple it. 

_Lilith doesn’t smile anymore,_ Zelda realises in that second, a little bitter, a little joyful. There’s no light in her eyes when she looks at Zelda. Lilith has always been beautiful, no matter what form she took, but her hair is getting darker, her eyes colder, her expression harder to define. Losing Sabrina, losing Adam _again_ , something in her snapped, drove her to drink celestial blood and scream at false gods. Lilith’s mouth was always hungry, always voracious.

There is no sun here, no moon, but there is light. Sourceless and near-solid but light none the less. Zelda raises a finger, as if to touch it, meeting cool air instead, her hand passing through brightness and fading into nothing. The perpetual chill does not bother as much as she feared, reminds her of winter, of the tranquil humidity after a messy storm, the cold taste in her filling lungs. The ozone hanging in the air, coating her tongue, Hilda bustling around with Sabrina at her ankles, bottles full of lighting.

“Sabrina loved winter,” she states before she can stop herself, hand emerged in the light. She turns to look at Lilith who is wide-eyed, haunted by ghosts only she can see. “She loved the lightning storms and the stars and seeing Orion. She would always follow Hilda around when she was younger, catching moonbeams in her hand and carefully placing them in bottles, labelling them in Latin. She had cauldrons full of thunder, the four winds in boxes, whatever Sabrina could capture she had.” She takes the cigarette out of Lilith’s hand and takes a long, slow, deep drag of nicotine.

“If you’re trying to make me feel worse—,” Lilith starts.

“Shut up,” Zelda drops the cigarette and crushes it beneath her heel. “I don’t want to hear your pity, your self-loathing. You made your decisions and I made mine and now we have to live with them. As you said, dying is overrated.”

Something shifts in Lilith’s eyes, something dominating, darker, _unholy_. “Living for someone,” each word out of perfectly painted lips is cold and calculated, “That’s the hard thing.” The paces around, dress shimmering in and out of view, not quite god, not quite human. “So, Zelda Spellman, who will you live for?”

There was a time that Zelda would have answered Sabrina, Ambrose, Hilda, or Edward. Once there was a time she would answer Marie. Now, stuck between hesitation and boldness, she’s unsure. She lived for Hecate last, Lilith before her, and Lucifer before Lilith.

She raises her head, hair falling into her eyes. “Once I would have lived for you. Once for Hecate. But now, now there’s someone much more powerful who I can live for.”

Lilith raises an eyebrow. “And who is that?”

Zelda’s teeth pull back in a snarl, feral, wild, untamed. “Myself.”

-

Lilith tastes like freedom, like the sea, salty and frothy and unyielding. Her thighs are the rocky coastline that Zelda is drowning in. Lilith rises up like the tide, cresting and shattering into Zelda’s mouth, body spasming in waves as she lets out a noiseless scream, back arching to the point of pain. She calms, panting below Zelda as she raises her head to stare into her eyes.

“Come here,” Lilith whispers, her own voice betraying the want soaked into her skin. Her hands reach down to tangle themselves in Zelda’s hair, gently tugging so Zelda prowls up her body, pressing her lips into god-sent skin. Lilith’s lips are soft underneath hers and Zelda losing her capacity of thought as she get devoured.

Then she’s being pushed away and dragged upwards until her cunt settles over Lilith’s mouth and there’s a tongue between her folds and she forgets words, babbling nonsense in Latin, Cantonese, Russian, whatever language her mind can focus on for a split second.

“You’re beautiful,” Lilith whispers into her thigh as presses scattered kisses on the skin there. “You’re so fucking gorgeous I wish I could keep you here, spread over my bed until the end of time.” Her eyes are so blue, so wide, so cold and filled to the brim with feelings Zelda doesn’t want to think about. Instead, she rocks her hips with a soft hum and watches as Lilith buries herself so far inside that Zelda doesn’t know where she ends.

Lilith’s hands were spreading her open impossibly wide, demanding entrance that Zelda willingly gave. There was an urgency to her movements, a violent glee that Zelda passed over without care. She ached, the months of dancing around each other weighing on her shoulders. The moments in the mortuary with almost touches and heated looks, the shadowed corners with heady kisses and whiskey stained teeth. Zelda clung to Lilith and accepted to force of her desire, her longing, her _need_. She was drunk on passion and want and the thin lines of magic drawing the two of them together. There were too many hands, too many mouths, too much at once, filling her to the brim and keeping her there, writhing and wanting and waiting to spill over.

When Zelda came, she dug her nails fiercely into Lilith’s scalp, deep enough to draw thin lines of blood. She wanted to scream her devotion, but oxygen failed her and only a breathy _Lilith_ emerged, a plea, a prayer, and unholy worship all at once.

The world around her fades to black and all she sees is pale blue eyes full of emotions that Zelda dare not dream on.

-

She wakes in her bedroom to clattering from the kitchen and low music pouring out of the attic.

“You awaken.” There’s a mug pressed into her hands and Zelda takes a sip of thick, herbal tea that coats her throat. Lilith’s face blurs for a second before stabilising, blue eyes meeting hers. “I was worried I had lost you too.”

_Lost you too._

“Are you needed back in hell?” Zelda asks, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

“No,” Lilith lies. “Not for a while. The Plague Kings knelt before me, the rest followed suit.”

Here she stands, Zelda realises, at the crossroads between death and devotion. In hell, Lilith had asked her what she was, what she wanted. Now, she has her answer.

“Stay?” Zelda asks, holding Lilith’s hand in hers. “Please.”

Beneath the hallowed moon Lilith softens in Zelda’s hands, the weariness melting off her face until Zelda finally sees Lilith of the garden. Lilith with long hair and bright blue eyes and the weight of the world off her shoulders.

“Always.”


End file.
